Page 112 of Weston’s Treasure

“Dad—”

“Trying to live my dream through you or pushing my dream on you. Not sure which, but I know I did wrong. Know I shoulda listened to you when you were a teenager. Know I was selfish not wanting to give up my time with you, what I want for you, so blinded by it, I never stopped to think about what you wanted. I’m sorry about that, Scout. Hope one day you can forgive me.”

Weston’s hand in mine flexed and I glanced up at him.

He was the picture of strength. From his messy hair, his chiseled jaw, the beard he’d let grow making him look even more menacing. All the way down to his powerful thighs. He stood next to me, holding me together.

Treasure.

He’d thought that was what he’d found, but he was wrong. That was what he was giving me. He was the something special I never thought I would have. The very person I was meant to be with, stand next to, the man I was meant to spend my life with. I’d known it all along. But right then, I knew I’d never lose it. I’d never let it go to waste. I’d cherish him for the gift he was—always.

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right, you should’ve. I needed to hear them. If you’ll let me, I’d like to make it right. I know it’s asking a lot, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

That was twice my father had asked me to forgive him.

“Nothing to forgive, but if you insist, I’ll make you a deal. You forgive me for being the worst daughter in the history of daughters and I’ll forgive you. Though I will say again, I don’t think there’s anything to forgive.”

My dad smiled at me, shook his head, and looked at Weston.

“Stubborn,” my dad mumbled.

“Not telling me anything I don’t already know, Dale.” Weston chuckled.

“Right.”

“That wasn’t me being stubborn.”

“Right,” my dad repeated.

“It wasn’t. I know when I’m being stubborn.”

“Okay.” My dad laughed.

“I wasn’t—”

I didn’t get to finish because Weston’s lips were on mine, silencing me.

“Only you can be stubborn and argue about being stubborn, while being stubborn.”

“But—”

“You gonna argue or visit with your dad?”

I glared at Weston a moment, contemplating whether or not I was ready to give up my snit or if I wanted to argue some more, when my dad’s very loud laughter filled the room.

“Damn,” he grouched. “Sucks it hurts so bad when I finally have something to be happy about.”

I turned to my dad, snit over, and smiled.

Weston didn’t have broken ribs so it didn’t hurt when he laughed. So that’s what he did. The sound of it filled the room and settled over me.

“We have some news for you, Dale,” Weston started, and plastered me against his side.

“Good news, I hope.”

“The best news,” I told him.